


#ThankYouSammy

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cake & Pie as Metaphors for Dean's Bisexuality, Castiel is a Master of Social Media, First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, Grumpy Dean, Holding Hands, Illustrated, Instagram, M/M, Matchmaker Sam, Oneshot, POV Third Person Omniscient, Playing Footsie, References to Dean/Other(s), Sam Ships It, Valentine's Day, set between 10x13 "Halt & Catch Fire" and 10x14 "The Executioner's Song"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 07:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>@honeybeeinatrenchcoat:</b><br/>First official date with Dean! Sam made spaghetti bolognese! I don't eat, but Dean does :-P #ValentinesDay2015 #ThankYouSam</p>
            </blockquote>





	#ThankYouSammy

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd last-minute by [these](http://themcgeek.tumblr.com/) [lovely](http://yourstrulyandreblogged.tumblr.com/) [folks](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/) [here](http://cersei-the-truth-bombardier.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I've never actually used Instagram, so this fic may in fact be 40% bullshit. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Dean shuffled into the bunker’s dimly-lit library, rubbing at his eyes. “Hey, Sam,” he called, “You want any dinner? I can fix us something. I mean, so long as you’re jonesing for something out of a can.”

His eyes lighted upon Sam, and all thoughts of food blurred to the back of Dean’s mind. He stared at the space between the ends of two desks. Sam was busy arranging two chairs there, either side of a small table covered with a crimson cloth. The room smelled faintly of sun-dried tomatoes.

Dimmed lights, and a tidy little dinner arrangement?

It looked like a date.

“You bringing a girl around?” Dean asked with a smile and a frown. “Not for nothing, but I thought you dried up years ago.”

Sam scoffed, setting a silver fork neatly on top of a folded cloth napkin. “It’s for you. In case all sense of natural time progression escaped you while you were exiled in your room, it’s February 14th. Valentine’s Day?”

“Um... Okay?” Dean got closer, apprehension tickling him all the way down to the toes in his boots. He stood beside the fancy table and folded his arms, his gaze fixed on Sam’s tall forehead. “Don’t know about you, Sammy, but I’m not really up for the whole siblings-reclaim-the-holiday thing. You ‘n me are in an okay place right now, and yeah, that’s great. But are we really steady enough to... you know.” Dean waved at hand at the set-up. Sam was putting a candleholder on the table.

Once the candle was jammed upright so it stood straight like a pillar, Sam brushed his hands together and looked up at Dean. He wore a sneaky smirk, which nearly always heralded trouble.

“I invited someone,” Sam said.

“Who?”

Sam ignored him. “Your dinner’s in the pot. Once your date is here then I’ll serve.” He patted Dean on the shoulder and moved past. He kept on smiling, enjoying the way Dean wasn’t quite sure whether to panic.

“Sam! Who did you invite?”

Sam looked back. Oh, good, Dean looked presentable. That purple and pink shirt fit his shoulders well, and his jeans weren’t dirty. His expression of extreme bafflement could be schooled away.

“Seriously, Sam. _Who_?” Dean demanded. His eyes darted about, searching for a clue. “Is it someone I know?”

“Yes,” Sam said, grinning as he leaned against the nearest bookshelf. “The two of you are pretty well acquainted, I’d say.”

Dean fidgeted. “Well, I haven’t exactly met any Winchester-compatible women recently, so unless you dragged someone back from the beyond the grave, or kidnapped them against their will, I’m kind of clueless here.”

“You’ll see,” Sam said, turning and stalking away towards the war room, where the map table took up most of the space.

“Hey! _Hey_! Don’t you leave me hanging—” Dean caught Sam’s shoulder and swung him around, but Sam shook him off and kept walking. “Sam, who the hell did you tell about our bunker? Forget about me, it’s a security issue!”

“Too easy, Dean,” Sam chuckled. He climbed the short set of steps and entered the war room, hearing Dean jog up behind him. “You don’t need to wait too long to find out, though. You hear that?”

Dean took a breath, held it, and listened. A distant thump resounded, then another. The bunker’s doors were opening and closing on the other side of a few walls. Whoever was on their way was in a hurry.

The doors over the balcony slammed open, and Castiel entered, hands gripping the wrought iron railing. He had his smartphone in his hand and a red flush on his cheeks. “I came as fast as I could,” he said, his voice as windswept as his hair. “Are you both all right? You didn’t reply to my messages, Sam, I thought you were taken captive or restrained—”

He registered the brothers standing by the map table, unharmed, Sam with a huge grin on his face, Dean looking terribly confused. Castiel squinted. “What’s going on?”

Sam cackled and sat against the map table without a word, legs crossed at the ankle.

“Wait,” Dean said slowly. He stared at Castiel, eyes tracking him as he came down the stairs. “Wait, is this... Are you...?”

“Am I what?”

Castiel reached the foot of the stairs and approached Dean and Sam, feeling his heartbeat begin to level off. While he was relieved there was no danger, he still didn’t understand why he’d been summoned.

Dean stared at Castiel as though he was a stranger who’d suddenly become an old friend. New eyes; Dean looked at him with new eyes. _Oh_ , Dean’s face read.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Sam said in the background.

Castiel’s annoyance at the false alarm faded at once, because he understood what was going on now. Dean had worked it out already, hence the staring.

Dean’s parted lips pulled into a quick grin, trying to hide how shaken he was. “Hey, Cas.” He gulped, then gestured sloppily over his shoulder. “Sam’s uh... He’s a dick today.”

“So I gathered,” Castiel said, slipping his phone back into his coat pocket.

“He made dinner for us,” Dean uttered with a soft chuckle and a shrug. He shoved one hand in the front pocket of his jeans, and with the other, he pointed towards the library. When Castiel looked, he saw a table set up halfway down the hall. “Crazy, right?”

“Very crazy,” Castiel agreed, as delicately as he could. His eyes slid past Dean to meet Sam’s gaze. Sam winked. Castiel looked back to Dean, watching him draw breath. “I do believe this is merely a case of the boy-king crying wolf,” Castiel said. “If it makes you feel better, Dean, I’m sure karma will take good care of him. This will come back to bite him in the ass.”

Dean said nothing. Castiel searched him for a response, but sensed only a surprised kind of excitement. So Castiel prompted him, “Seeing as there’s no emergency, I feel I’m well within my rights to leave.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. He swallowed. “I mean—” He looked down at his rubbing fingers. “No. No, you can’t leave.” He met Castiel’s eye, more concern and resolve in his gaze now. “You only just got here. You drove from, like, Illinois. You’re probably tired, aren’t you?”

“I don’t get tired,” Castiel said.

Dean blinked. “Right! Right, but...”

Castiel’s smile was sweet and radiant, and it did horrible, beautiful things to Dean’s belly. “Dean,” Castiel said softly, “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

Dean couldn’t believe this was happening. He stared at the marble floor and cursed Sam, all the way from his pointy nose to his majestic hair, then back again. “Sure,” Dean forced out. “I mean, Sam went to all this trouble to embarrass us; might as well humour him, right? Wouldn’t hurt to play along.”

“No, perhaps it wouldn’t,” Castiel said, a knowing smirk on his lips as he brushed past Dean, heading for the table in the library.

 _Denial_ , Dean reminded himself. _Deny everything and it’ll be fine. You’re the_ prince _of denial._

“If you would step this way, please,” Sam said, with a godawful crocodile grin plastered all the way across his face. He spread his arms towards the library, ushering Dean and Castiel like a waiter would.

“Table for two.” Sam went ahead to the tiny table, snatching up a matchbook from the nearest desk. He struck a match and lit the single candle, beckoning a warm, golden starlight into life. The flame flickered, jumping, and then burned steadily as soon as Sam blew out the match.

“If I might take your coat, sir.” Sam held out his hands for Castiel’s trenchcoat, and with a smile, Castiel let him remove it, doing a spin to free his arms.

“Wait—” Castiel darted after Sam and dipped a hand into one pocket of his coat, retrieving his phone. He pressed a button and checked the screen, then turned the screen off again. “I’m waiting to see if Claire responds to any of my messages. I heard from her the other day – she followed me on Instagram. Since then, nothing. I’ve commented on her photos but she’s been ignoring me.”

“You have an Instagram account?” Sam chuckled, hooking the trenchcoat over his forearm. “Wow.”

“What the hell’s Instagram?” Dean asked, brow furrowed.

“It’s a photo-sharing application,” Castiel explained. “I take photos and upload them using my phone, and I can use image filters to customise their look and make them more attractive. Other Instagram users can ‘like’ the photos and add comments.” He stroked the edge of his phone affectionately, eyes lowered. “I find it gives a certain sense of instant gratification. I think that’s the point.”

“Sounds like a douchebag app to me,” Dean said, in that gruff, careless way of his.

“Yes, that’s exactly what it is,” Castiel said, with the maximum amount of triteness.

Sam sighed, still smiling. “Mr. and Mr. Douchebag, if you would please take your seats.”

He pulled out one chair, then looked at Dean expectantly.

“Oh, no way you’re seating me first,” Dean said, waving his hands in refusal. “I’m not the chick.”

Castiel sighed and rolled his eyes, going to sit in that first chair, his back to the telescope at the other end of the hall. “Honestly, Dean,” he said, letting Sam tuck him in. “Your point-blank rejection of femininity is not a particularly attractive trait.”

Dean snorted. Trust Cas to poke at the sore spot.

“So what’s my _most_ attractive trait, then?” Dean asked with a sneer, elbowing Sam off him so he could seat himself. “My propensity for heroic gestures? My exceptional vernacular?” He dragged his chair so its feet made a ghastly screeching sound against the marble, making all three of them cringe. Dean sighed. “C’mon, Cas, every second you wait makes me think you don’t find me attractive at all.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “I think Sam would rather not hear everything I have to say.”

“Hey, don’t mind me,” Sam said with a vague nonchalance, “I’m just waiting until you’ve finished talking so I can read out the menu.”

“God,” Dean said, clasping a hand over his eyes. “Just get on with it, Sam.”

“For starters, we have— Uh. I found crackers.” He pulled a plate of neatly-arranged crackers off the nearby desk and put it between Dean and Castiel. “The mice got into the pâté so I got you peanut butter and jelly.” The crackers were joined by a dish of jam and a dish of peanut butter.

“Is that it?” Dean picked up one of the tiny dishes, tipping it slightly. “I could lick this thing and get half a mouthful out of it.”

Sam sighed. “Please don’t lick it. It took me ages to get the top flat.”

“Time wasted, if you ask me.”

Dean’s eyes flicked up, and his eyebrows raised when he saw Castiel sending a third-degree laser burn in his direction using only the tightened skin around his eyes.

“What,” Dean said.

“Sam put time and effort into giving you something nice, Dean,” Castiel said lowly. “The least you could do is be polite.”

Sam appreciated Castiel’s support, but all he could think about was how valid Dean’s arguments were. They _were_ small dishes. Dean’s masculinity was often threatened by small servings of food. Sam didn’t know how or why, but Dean was strange like that.

Dean put down the dish, shoulders shifting about as he worked up the courage to permit this atrocity to continue. Sam saved him the trouble, and took the tiny dishes and the crackers away. “The main meal’s cooked anyway, you can skip starters. We’ve got spaghetti bolognese, and chocolate gateau à la mode for dessert.”

“Awesome,” Dean muttered. He spoke to his lap, but for the first time he sounded like he was looking forward to the meal.

“That sounds wonderful, Sam,” Castiel said, looking up at Sam with sparkles in his eyes. In practically any other situation Sam would’ve had an ‘aww’ moment, but this was business. He nodded resolutely, and strode off to fetch the food.

“So,” Castiel said, leaning forward, elbows on the table and his gaze on the candle, “what do people _do_ on romantic dates?”

“Dunno,” Dean muttered, staring at the fibres in the tablecloth, then the turquoise oxidation on the candleholder, then the dirt under his fingernails. He picked at his nails, all the while pursing his lips and wiggling them from side to side.

“Have you ever been on a date?” Castiel asked, head tilted slightly to the side.

“Um. Kind of.” Dean looked up, then down. “Not really.”

“Have you seen people dating in movies?”

“Yeah.” Dean cracked a smile, meeting Castiel’s eyes this time. He rolled one shoulder, thinking about everything he’d seen happen on a screen. He felt safer using popular media as a reference rather than the emptiness his own life had provided in the romance department. “Yeah, I guess people would... sit. Eat food together. Talk.”

“You mean the way you and I sometimes do,” Castiel said, reasonably. “We do that a lot, in fact. Were those dates?”

Dean huffed, breath rushing through a half-formed smile. “No. Nah, those were just... meals. A couple of guy friends can eat out together without it getting weird, Cas. Those weren’t dates.”

“So what happens on a date?” Castiel pressed.

“Um. Well, if we pretended this room was an expensive restaurant, and Sam was a legit waiter in a penguin suit... I guess there’d be a ton of eye contact between you and— you and your date, whoever it is. That’s how people flirt, it’s like Flirting 101. You keep your voice soft, you smile a lot. If you’re more comfortable you’d play footsie under the table.”

“What’s ‘footsie’?”

“Y’know. When you touch feet, or rest your legs together.”

“You mean like we do sometimes.”

Dean blushed. The colour in his cheeks was barely visible in the candlelight, but the same light illuminated his eyelashes as they fluttered, and made the shine on his lips glisten as he licked them, then licked them again.

“N-no,” he breathed, fingers scratching, smoothing against the tablecloth. “No, that’s ‘cause Sam’s sitting at the table too and there’s no room because he’s so big. I told you that last time.”

“Were you resting your leg against his leg too?”

Dean screwed up his face, setting a hand over it. He lowered his hand again, eyes tracking up to meet and hold Castiel’s gaze. “No, I wasn’t.”

Castiel felt smug but tried not to let it show on his face. He tilted his head. “So, the meals we’ve shared when we made extended eye contact, when we touched feet and legs under the table, when I made you laugh or you made me smile... were none of those dates?”

Dean shook his head, his attention kept firmly on the napkin in front of him.

“So this is our first date,” Castiel said, sliding his leg between Dean’s.

Dean’s body flooded with bubble-bath fizz, and he struggled through total breathlessness only to gasp— But then Sam returned, and Dean didn’t dare react any further.

“And here we have your meal,” Sam said, clearing a space in the middle of the table, setting the candle a few more inches to the side. He set down a single steaming plate of spaghetti, red sauce smothered across the pale tangle in one slowly expanding dollop, topped with six perfectly browned meatballs. “Bon appétite!”

“I’m— I’m not hungry,” Dean said, in a last, hopeless attempt to procure his escape from this too-sweet nightmare. Of course, the lie was as obvious to him as it was to the other two. His stomach promptly rumbled at a decibel that could have echoed, had his stomach not been fronted by a dangling tablecloth.

“Nice try,” Sam said. “Here, clean your hands. I don’t know what you’ve been doing in your room but your nails are disgusting.” He handed Dean a bowl with a washcloth in it, filled with steaming water.

Dean didn’t even argue. He could smell roses in the water. He made a mental note to congratulate Sammy later on his monumental attention to prissiness – but then again, if Dean could clean his hands with water this fragrant every day, he’d get them dirty on purpose.

“And you,” Sam said sternly, handing the same bowl to Castiel, just in time to prevent him from poking at a meatball.

Dean sat and smiled while Castiel cleaned his hands too. Castiel took great care not to let the water slop as he set the cloth back in, and he took the kitchen towel Sam offered him. Dean had already dried his hands on his jeans, but whatever.

“Can we eat now?” Dean asked. The sight and smell and soulful essence of the tomato sauce (real sauce with bits in, _not_ ketchup) was infiltrating every sense he had, and his mouth was watering so much he had to swallow twice.

“Go on,” Sam said with a grin.

“No, not yet,” Castiel said, shoving a hand over the plate before Dean could grab his fork. “I want to take a photo.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Dean slapped the table, then leaned back in his chair. “Douchebag app. Called it.”

“This is an immaculately-prepared meal, Dean,” Castiel said, standing over the table and positioning his phone facing down. He adjusted it inches this way, millimetres that way, trying to get the framing perfect. “Look, there’s even a sprinkle of green on the top.”

“Oregano,” Sam said. “It’s dried, not fresh, though.”

“It’s beautiful,” Castiel said, as the phone’s camera-shutter noise went off. He tilted the phone to look at the photo, then went in for another. “In some other life I imagine you would’ve made an excellent chef, Sam.”

“Hmph,” Dean said. _He_ was the chef around here.

“Everything I learned, I learned from Dean,” Sam said, shooting Dean and fond look. “The internet helped. But the basics and the pro tips, they were all his.”

Dean’s bitterness melted into sorbet. He looked up at Sam and smiled. Man, he was proud of that kid.

“There,” Castiel said. He’d taken a third photo. “Perfect.” He sat down, eyes on his phone.

“Not good manners to use your phone at the table,” Dean said, taking his fork and shovelling spaghetti onto the end. He crammed it in his mouth, hunched over to chew while the pasta was still tangled on the plate. “To’hally rube.”

Castiel smirked, and took another photo of Dean with his mouth full. Dean coughed, biting down and breaking every pasta strand in his mouth. “Wha’d you do tha’ for?”

“You looked like you were having fun,” Castiel said.

“It tastes good,” Dean said, chewing and swallowing.

“You’re welcome,” Sam said. “I’m gonna be in the other room now. Shout if you need me.”

“We will,” Castiel said, eyes never leaving his phone. His thumbs typed away, tap-tap-tappity-tappity-tap.

Dean popped a meatball into his mouth, sighing as it crunched, two halves perfectly severed by his teeth. He kept a curious eye on Castiel, musing to himself that the frown between Cas’ eyebrows was kinda handsome. Whenever Cas did anything at full throttle he looked good, and right now he was in the zone for Instagramming.

“So what kind of photos do you take?” Dean asked, dabbing at his mouth with his cloth napkin. “You take any nude pics?”

Castiel ignored Dean’s last remark. “Things which catch my eye, mostly. Landscapes, animals, architecture. Crowds. Road signs. I have to be careful about giving away my location though, I’m sure there are a few demons who follow me.”

“Follow— Oh, that’s like when you subscribe to an online thingy, right?”

Castiel nodded.

“Demons on the internet. Man,” Dean shook his head, digging around his plate for another meatball, “this world really has gone to shit. I don’t know why we even bother to fight the takeover, some days.”

“I know why you bother.” Castiel put his phone on the table, screen-side-down. “You asked earlier what your most attractive trait is,” he began. He paid Dean his full attention, his eye contact so intense that Dean felt compelled to stop chewing and swallow. “Your most attractive trait, to me, is your will. Your will to go on, your will to stop when you feel it’s time to give in.

“Sam told me...” He glanced downwards. “Sam told me you decided to carry on, still bearing the mark of Cain, attempting hold out against its power for as long as you can. But it’s like a siege against a castle; I can’t help but imagine the walls will crumble eventually.

“And I’m angry, Dean. I _am_ angry. I never wanted you to allow the mark a single second of refrain, or any chance in the future to break you. But I know you, and I know you won’t let it, not after everything we’ve gone through.

“But I admire your choice: the decision to stop looking for a cure. I’m not saying I _agree_ , that’s another matter – but I do admire the will it took to decide. Free will, Dean. You have it, and you use it the best way you know how.”

Dean’s eyelids fluttered closed, and his gaze fell to his plate, watching steam rise from the food, twirling in spirals. “That’s what’s attractive to you?”

“That, and your freckles.”

Dean coughed out a laugh, slapping a hand over his mouth to hold his chuckles in. But it was too late; Castiel was already smiling, crinkles around his eyes, a wrinkle on his nose. Dean slid his hand off his mouth and past his cheek, feeling the heat under his skin. Blushing again. Biting his lip, Dean turned his face back to his food.

Still smiling.

Castiel’s phone buzzed, and his hand shot to grab it. He unlocked the screen and saw he had a new notification. Upon checking it, however, he sighed and lay his phone back down.

“What is it?” Dean asked. “You got all excited for a second.”

“I thought it would be Claire. It wasn’t.”

“So who was it?”

Castiel picked his phone up again, reading the user handle of the newest commenter. “Starkirk99.”

Dean sat up a bit straighter. “What did he say?”

“She,” Castiel corrected. “Her comment reads—” Castiel paused, eyes darting up to meet Dean’s curious stare. “It’s somewhat inappropriate.”

“My kinda girl,” Dean said with a quirk of one eyebrow. “C’mon, read it out.” He buried his fork back into his spaghetti and started twirling it.

Castiel cleared his throat. “It says, _That boy’s got a mouth like a vacuum. Ought to be fun later. Let us know, babe._ ” He kept his eyes averted, feeling a rush of heat under his shirt collar. “I’ve had a few discussions with her about you, I think—”

“Wait,” Dean said, letting his spaghetti-bound fork sink onto his plate. “Her comment was about _me_? You— Oh my God, you _posted_ that picture of me eating spaghetti?!”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but found himself speechless.

Dean was wide-eyed, and red-lipped from the pasta sauce. “So this starkirk99 chick thinks you ‘n me are... a thing? Like, an item?”

“Does she think we’re currently on a date? Yes, because I said we are,” Castiel said, eyes back on his phone. “I appear to have gained a decent following over the past few weeks, and these people seem genuinely interested.” He watched two more notifications pop up, and he smiled. “Pinkpussykat says you and I are well-suited.” Castiel then saw the second comment, and he squinted. “What does it mean when people give other people numbers?”

Dean’s lower lip shifted. “Wh— What do you mean?”

“Like, here,” Castiel said, turning the phone around and leaning across the table so Dean could see.

Dean’s breath left him when he read the comment.

_**Drsexxxy:** fur real, ur both full 10s._

“That, uh.” Dean cleared his throat. “That means they think we’re both hella good looking.” A grin danced across his face, and he sucked his lower lip over his teeth to hide it. But no matter how hard he tried to distract himself away, his eyes stuck on the photo above the comments.

He poked his fingertip on the screen and made it scroll upwards, so he could see the photo properly. There was his own face, lit in gold by candlelight, his eyelashes long and his freckles visible, his mouth stuffed full of spaghetti. Dean didn’t think he’d ever had a more unflattering photo taken, and yet he looked... decent. Cas had done something to the photo to make its colours pop; yellow highlights were set off by purple shadows, and altogether the picture was one Dean kind of wanted to keep.

Castiel let Dean stare for a while longer.

“Nice caption,” Dean eventually mumbled, turning back to his food. “Nice username too. Honeybeeinatrenchcoat.” He huffed a laugh, spearing a meatball onto his fork. “Kind of a mouthful... heh. But it suits you.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said, turning his phone’s screen off.

“So, I havva quesht’n,” Dean said, speaking with his mouth full. “If they think we’re bofh hop, does that mean they’ve sheen yur phopo poo?”

Castiel snickered for a moment, gazing at Dean fondly.

Dean rolled his eyes, swallowed, then repeated what he’d said: “If they think we’re both hot, does that mean your followers have seen your photo too?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, fingering the edge of his phone. “Someone requested that I upload what’s known as a ‘selfie’.”

Dean smirked. “Can I see?”

Castiel blinked a few times, lowering his chin to his chest. “You don’t want to see that.”

“Yeah, I do!” Dean was half done with his meal now, but he wasn’t eating as fast as before. Fork put down, he grinned at Castiel, a hand outstretched to him. “C’mon, lemme take a look!”

Castiel snatched the phone away from Dean as he grappled for it. “No, Dean, it’s private.”

Dean screwed up his face. “Seriously? You’d let strangers on the internet look at your face but you won’t let me? The guy who’s sitting right opposite you, looking at your _actual_ face?”

Castiel sighed. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”

Castiel shook his head. “These strangers on the internet... Well, they’re not strangers. I’ve gotten to know them, and I value their thoughts and opinions. And it may be the case that I know very little about them, since I only see what they volunteer to their followers, but the same is true of me for them. They don’t know I’m an angel, they don’t know anything about me aside from my image composition style and the way I word my comments.”

“But why can’t I see your selfie?”

“Because what I’m comfortable sharing anonymously is very different to what I would share with you,” Castiel said firmly. He leant on his elbows, arms banded protectively across his chest, hands over his phone. “I have no doubt there are things you’ve shown someone on the internet which you wouldn’t want me to see.”

Dean was going to argue, but then he remembered the other evening when he’d spent hours on an online video chatroom, asking random guys how they’d play with him if he was right there with them. He’d angled the webcam so he was only visible from his panties to his shoulders, but as Cas said – it was easy with strangers, impossible in real life.

Dean gulped, twirling his fork again. “So I don’t get to see.”

“I can show you some other photos if you’d like,” Castiel said.

Dean seemed visibly enthused by the prospect.

Castiel mirrored Dean’s smile as he leaned forward again. The candlelight glanced off his phone’s glass front, and he brushed away fingerprints as he swiped back through his photos. “I’ll go from the start.”

Dean busied himself clearing up a few more meatballs while Castiel was scrolling. His stomach was getting full, but he had no intention of leaving a mouthful uneaten.

“This was the first one,” Castiel said, holding the phone in between Dean and his food. Dean put his fork down and took the phone. Claire Novak’s face peered at him from the screen, looking as panda-eyed and angry as Dean remembered from the last time he’d seen her. Castiel explained, “Claire borrowed my phone under the pretence of calling a friend, but I then discovered she had created an Instagram account and uploaded this.”

“Why?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know,” Castiel said. “At that point she was angrier at you than she was at me. Part of her did trust me, I’m certain of that. Perhaps she wanted a way to contact me when she felt safe. She took off the very next day.”

“And she followed you on this Insta-thing only recently, right? So maybe she was telling you she’s someplace safe now.”

“That’s what I assume from it, too,” Castiel nodded. “Besides... I think she also wanted me to have a way to find her at some point in the future. I’ve heard photos can be useful when tracking down missing persons.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, swiping to the next photo. “Oh, hey – sweet sunset.”

Castiel hastily wrestled the phone back, checking which photo Dean was looking at. He relaxed and let Dean take it again.

“Kaw River,” Castiel said. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Mm.” Dean could feel his smile spreading, along with a subtle glee inside him. Castiel took wonderful pictures. Dean had become immersed in a photo of dawn light spreading over the same river, taken from the same angle as the previous image. Dean could almost feel the cold mist on his skin, hear the rushing of the water at the bank and the soft shift of the trees, the birds chirping good morning.

He swiped again, and chuckled, startled by the sight of Castiel’s face. In the photo Castiel gave the camera a sultry look, lips parted, eyes turned up and sideways to peer into the lens. Dean had seen photos like that before – it was similar to how teenage girls took selfies.

“Dean!” Castiel removed the phone from Dean’s hand, and Dean let him. “I told you I didn’t want you—”

“It’s a good photo,” Dean interrupted. He stared down at his knuckles, nudging at the tablecloth. “You look...” He trailed off, too embarrassed to say what he really thought. But this was a freaking _date_ , he reminded himself. Seemed like everyone else in the world was cool with this being a date. Dean could fight the idea, but what would be the point? “You look sexy.”

When Dean looked up, Castiel stared back, expressionless.

Dean shrugged. “Just sayin’.”

Castiel began to smile. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean let a breath fly free, rushing between his pursed lips. He’d done it, he’d told Cas he was sexy. Go Dean.

Dean ate a meatball, trying to fill the sudden silence.

“Here,” Castiel said, passing Dean his phone again. “That’s a pigeon on a sidewalk.”

“I can see that,” Dean said, chewing on one side of his mouth. “And the next one is also a pigeon on a sidewalk. And— Wait, is that...?” Dean narrowed his eyes. “Is that me?”

Castiel didn’t attempt to snatch his phone this time, caught out. A flush of colour graced his cheeks, his fingertips pushing together as his hands rested on the table.

Dean exhaled, looking back at the picture. It was shot underarm, a blur of Castiel’s trenchcoat covering the topmost part of the picture. Most of the shot consisted of the same sidewalk as the pigeons, but the focus of the image was quite obviously Dean’s own legs. He recognised the frayed hems of his jeans, his brown boots, the angled pose of his bone structure. His past self rested forward against a street barrier, watching the cars go by.

“That was less than a month ago,” Dean said. “We had tacos for lunch.”

His gaze lifted to Castiel, and he felt a funny softness settling in his belly. “Why’d you take a picture of my legs?” He grinned quickly. “Can’t exactly put that on a missing person poster.”

Castiel shrugged. “I was... testing the camera.”

“Right,” Dean said, nodding. “Yeah, obviously. Duh.” He looked down and nodded again. It was so much easier to believe that, so he’d take it.

But Castiel’s lie was a bad one, and the empty meaning of it felt heavy in the air between them.

Silence.

“Uh, this—” Castiel reached over and swiped to the next photo. “This is the dashboard of your car.”

“Oh, damn,” Dean said with a bright laugh, angling the phone up and staring at the picture. “How’d you get that framing so tight? That looks friggin’ awesome. All the lines look properly, like, perpendicular and everything.” He shook his head, beaming. “The two-fifty next to the tiny grey heart, what does that mean?”

“It means two hundred and fifty people liked the photo,” Castiel said. “It was the first post of mine which really got any attention.”

“Neat.” Dean pressed his lips into a curve of appreciation, nodding. “Cool caption too. _Not my baby, but his_.”

“Ah,” Castiel smiled. “Because of that caption I felt compelled to answer my followers’ questions about you. They’d asked about your legs before, and at the time I refused to satisfy anyone’s curiosity, attempting to keep the nature of our relationship a secret. But then—”

“Then they saw Baby’s dashboard and they flooded your inbox, didn’t they? Baby’s like that,” Dean said, clicking his cheek against his teeth. “She’ll get you all the attention you could ever want. So what were people asking, huh?” He scrolled down, and his eyebrows rose. “ _You two better be banging_? Seriously, that’s the response you get? What about the car?”

“Look at the next photo,” Castiel said, trying to swipe across.

Dean swerved out of the way, keeping his grip on the phone. “Nuh-uh, I’m not done.”

“The next one’s good too,” Castiel said, a little too insistently.

Dean gave him a long, considerative look. “Is there something in the comments you don’t want me to see?”

Castiel tried to speak but knew too well that anything he would say would be a lie. He sighed instead.

Dean licked his lips. “Can I look?”

Castiel blinked, pressing his lips together. “I suppose if I stop you now you’ll only look it up later.” He breathed out, then said, gently, “There’s something I haven’t told you, Dean.”

Dean swallowed. “Sh-Should I read it on the phone, or do you want to tell me?”

Castiel deliberated, thinking. Dean was patient, poking at the last meatball on his plate while he waited for Cas to decide. It only took a few seconds; Castiel said nothing, but reached to touch Dean’s hand, curling it tighter around the phone. With a nudge, Dean got the message and went back to reading. Cas waited a moment before he let his hand slide back. Even once the touch was over, Dean still felt his fingers, warm on his skin.

Dean hastened to scroll down, and it took him a while to skim-read and find out what Castiel was trying to hide. It wasn’t that there were a lot of comments – eight, that was all – but each of them was long, and he had to expand the longest ones.

“‘67 Impala, genuine leather seats, real tiger purr. You don’t sell her short, huh?” Dean grinned and kept on reading, full of delight, because he _loved_ that Cas loved his car. Baby was a home for both of them.

Then the words Castiel was so worried about jumped out at Dean, and he dragged in a breath.

_**honeybeeinatrenchcoat:** I wouldn’t say I pine for Dean, per se. Nor is what we share the kind of thing that would warrant a backseat rendezvous, as **p1nkpussykat** suggested. Not yet, at least. The problem is that Dean has yet to express that he desires me in any way at all. I know he loves me but I don’t think he’s ready to tell me. He shows it every day though. He texts me a couple of times before he goes to bed, and he asks if I’m okay when he sees me. He worries about me more than I worry about him, which is saying something._

There were follow-up comments, but Dean didn’t have the strength to scroll down. His breath was stuck in his throat, not sure if he wanted to breathe in or out, or otherwise not breathe for long enough that his consciousness joined the weird floaty feeling that was already hovering just outside his body.

“S-so, uh,” Dean said, licking his lips. He fidgeted with the phone, then put it down and held his own hand instead. “You think I have... feelings for you?” He was hot in the face, too full of timidity to look up. Castiel’s eyes were on him, probably seeing every pulse of Dean’s too-fast heart.

“What might interest you more,” Castiel said, with inescapable fondness, “is that I have feelings for you too.”

Dean shut his eyes.

This was all Sam’s fault. All of it.

Castiel saw Dean’s shame and he felt sorry it had come to this. It was a huge relief to confess his love to Dean after so long, but Dean wasn’t ready to hear it – and as Castiel always suspected, he might never be.

Alas, too late now; Dean had heard the confession and now he was stuck.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Castiel said gently. “If you’d prefer we could never mention it again. Here, look at this photo. It’s taken the same way as I did for your car, but in my car. See?”

“I don’t wanna look at your photos, Cas,” Dean said, shoving the phone away. His nostrils flared and he _glared_ at Castiel. “And we can’t not talk about this! I can’t just – _carry on_ through life knowing you feel—” Dean gestured at Castiel, “Whatever. And me. I can’t, okay. Dammit, Cas, don’t you think I have enough to deal with?!”

Castiel bowed his head, tucking his phone between his anxious hands. “This was a terrible mistake, wasn’t it? I’m sorry.”

“Sorr— Why the hell are you sorry?!”

Castiel looked up, confused for a moment – but he saw the same confusion in Dean’s eyes, and realised he’d read Dean’s outburst completely wrong. Dean’s expression looked softer than his voice had made him sound; he was hurt, yes, but he was hurt because he’d been caught off-guard. Castiel had thought Dean wasn’t ready to know, but...

“You thought I didn’t know,” Dean said, huffing. “Cas, c’mon, I’m not an idiot.” He smiled slightly, averting his eyes. “If anything, I’m glad you get what it means when I worry about you as much as I do.”

Castiel smiled down at his hands, happiness spreading through his body, flowing in his bloodstream until every limb felt it had been set alight by joy.

Dean’s knee knocked Castiel’s and stayed close, their thighs now giving each other a steady pressure. Castiel looked up, pleased to see Dean gazing back, his hand curled against his cheek, elbow on the table to support his face. He wore the sweetest smile that Castiel had ever seen. It was so potent it went beyond the dimples in his cheeks or the shine in his eyes; it came from core-deep and it radiated light better than the candle on the table could ever hope of doing, even if it were joined by thousands of its own kind.

Castiel parted his lips with the tip of his tongue, eyes dipping to Dean’s nearly-empty plate. “Are you going to finish that?” he asked.

Dean blinked out of a daze. “Hm? Oh. Do you want it?”

Castiel had thought he wanted it, but now he wasn’t so sure. He pondered the offer. “I don’t think it would taste very good to me. I don’t require physical sustenance.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t you like to say you tried it?” Dean asked, easing the plate closer to Castiel, wrinkling the tablecloth underneath. “Go on.”

Castiel was decidedly reluctant.

Dean huffed. “Well, if you won’t eat it... at least let me try out something I’ve always wanted to do.”

“Which is what?”

Dean’s breath caught, then released. When his eyes locked to Castiel’s, Castiel saw they were round and excited, clearly showing his anticipation.

“So,” Dean said, “what happens is, you put the end of a spaghetti in your mouth, right? And you hold onto it, and I take the _other_ end,” Dean swirled a finger over his plate, illustrating the long, twirling length of a single strand of pasta. “And I suck the spaghetti up to eat it.”

“Won’t that result in—”

“Sh!” Dean waved a hand to silence Castiel. “Are you up for it or not?”

Castiel’s smile pulled at one side of his lips, appreciating the fact Dean had asked to express intimacy without actually asking.

“I would be honoured to share a strand of spaghetti with you, Dean,” Castiel said.

“Awesome,” Dean whispered, flustered and tingly all over. Holy crap, this was actually going to happen. This was _entirely_ Sam’s fault. Dean ought to thank him later.

“Shall I...?” Castiel picked up the end of a spaghetti strand, craning over the table to put it between his lips. His eyes stayed on Dean, watching him intently. It was such a pleasure to see Dean this eager.

“All right, where’s the other end?” Dean muttered, trying to follow the strand back with the prongs of his fork. “Aha!”

He bent and picked up the spaghetti with his fingers, setting it between his lips like Castiel had. Their eyes met, and Dean didn’t think he’d ever blushed his much in his life. It wasn’t all in his face, either; his fingers felt sparkly, his toes were numb, and Little Dean was a fair bit plumper than five minutes ago.

Readying himself, Dean began to suck.

The pressure built in the back of Dean’s head as spaghetti collected behind his teeth, probably spinning into a little snake-spiral of pasta. He was sure the sauce turned his lips red, but he couldn’t think about that when his mind was crowded by the sight of Castiel’s eyes caught in candlelight, blue turned a fantastic golden bright.

Dean was ten inches away now. Sucking and sucking.

The spaghetti pulled taut like a tightrope, and then sagged as Dean inched his face closer. Closer, closer. He bit and swallowed what was in his mouth, then kept on sucking.

God, his heart was pulsing under his skin, in his ears. Every sense he possessed came alive in a split second: he smelled Castiel’s skin, felt the warmth of his breath on his own lips. Watched his dark eyelashes flutter down as Castiel looked at Dean’s mouth.

Dean had a second to change his mind, and he didn’t.

He kissed Castiel, right on the lips. Castiel let the spaghetti go, their lips parted together. Dean shut his mouth for a moment to swallow the food, and then, finding Castiel’s mouth irresistible, he breathed into it, forcing their jaws to lurch against each other. Castiel made a soft sound of surprise; Dean kissed with a rush of force, force he’d never imagined he would use. Dean’s stomach was probably flat on his plate now, his whole torso reaching for Cas.

Castiel’s hands cupped either side of Dean’s face, and Dean couldn’t help the murmur that escaped him. Castiel wasn’t sure if the sound was meant to be his name – maybe it wasn’t a word at all. But Castiel caught the sound in his mouth, rolling it on his tongue and licking it back into Dean’s mouth.

“Ohmmgod,” Dean said, a hand brushing against Castiel’s cheek. “Mmm...”

They kissed and kissed, tiny wet sounds tickling at Castiel’s ears the same way his emotions tickled at the rest of him. There was a pleasurable weight in his belly, not unlike the satisfaction of having eaten a meal. If Dean felt anything similar from the kiss, he could only feel twice as good as Castiel, as he really had eaten food.

Dean broke the kiss with a hard open-mouthed exhale, mouth still open as he eased back. Castiel couldn’t let go of his face, and the same went for Dean; they were both too wrapped up in the way the other looked now.

Dean’s skin appeared pink around his mouth, the flesh of his lips plump from the contact. Beautiful.

Castiel’s eyes were as dark as night, blinking slower and more leisurely than he ever had before. His guard was down, Dean realised. It was as if their kiss had removed them both from the ever-present sense of danger: they’d let go of everything for a minute, weightless and careless and at peace. To grasp reality again would come as a shock.

And, indeed, it did.

“Oh, shit,” Sam said, stumbling to a stop as he entered. “Wait, did you guys just kiss? Oh God, am I interrupting— Oh my _God_.”

Dean and Castiel stared at Sam, their hands having flown away from each other already. Now they sat properly in their seats, trying and failing to act like they’d done nothing suspicious, but evidently it was futile.

Dean looked down at himself and saw he had sauce stains on his t-shirt. He gulped, eyes flicking up to Castiel. Castiel only smirked, apparently amused by the whole thing. Dean snorted a tiny laugh. There was humour in it, in a way. One stained t-shirt was worth the kiss, for sure.

Dean sighed, turning his eyes towards the hallway entrance, where Sam had retreated to give them privacy. Dean could add two and two: Sam had known he was into Cas already, or he wouldn’t have set this whole scheme into motion. The way Dean felt about Cas was not a secret any more, and Dean could no longer be bothered to pretend it was.

“Hey, Sammy,” he shouted, making sure his voice would carry to the hallway Sam was hiding in.

Sam came in sheepishly, shoulders held narrow. “Yeah?”

Dean picked up Castiel’s phone and waggled it. “Mind taking our picture?”

“Uh. All right.” Sam trotted down the steps and hurried towards the dinner table, looking very apologetic.

Castiel stood to clear away the plate, but Dean got up and snatched it back. “You sit, Cas,” Dean said. “I can do this.”

“You sit down too,” Sam said firmly, taking the plate out of Dean’s hand. There was one meatball left, and Dean snatched it so it wouldn’t go to waste. He sat down, still holding it in his hand. He watched Sam putting the plate down on the nearest desk, then taking Castiel’s phone from the dinner table.

While Sam was occupied with the phone, Dean bit the meatball in two, chewing the first half. He eyed Castiel, quickly noticing that his gaze tracked the final mouthful between Dean’s fingers.

“You want?” Dean murmured, offering it to Castiel.

Castiel thought about it, then nodded. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, and Dean put what was left on his tongue. Dean felt ridiculously happy watching Cas chew, eyes peeking open just enough to see Dean staring. Castiel’s smile was adorable. His _everything_ was adorable.

“You guys ready?” Sam asked, holding the phone sideways like a camera. “Cas, this thing’s set for square pictures.”

“Good,” Castiel said, swallowing. His eyes never left Dean’s. “It’ll be perfect for Instagram.”

“You’re gonna make me into some kind of internet star, aren’t you?” Dean said, raising an eyebrow. “We’d better not break up or I’ll never be able to show my face in public again.”

Castiel chuckled, those perfect little crinkles appearing beside his eyes again. “How would you like to pose?”

“Not kissing,” Dean said hastily. “Let’s— Let’s keep that... private.”

“I didn’t mean that, but agreed,” Castiel said. He narrowed his eyes, then relaxed his face once an idea came to him. “Would you be opposed to holding hands?”

“Holding...” Dean’s lips rounded. “Like, fingers laced together, or ‘don’t leave me in Purgatory, you asshole’?”

Castiel was stunned blank-faced for a moment, then his smile came back. “I like fingers laced together.”

Dean breathed out, trying to subdue his nerves. Sam was watching, which was kind of uncomfortable. Dean had never held anyone’s hand like that before, so doing it in front of Sam made him jittery.

Sam’s toes clenched in his shoes as Dean reached out for Castiel over the table, inner wrist to the table and palm raised towards Cas, fingers spread. Castiel mirrored the movement, and their fingers linked like the teeth of a zipper. Ever so slowly, their fingers slid down until they locked. Dean had the biggest grin on his face, and Castiel... Well, he looked as if he’d never had a moment so precious in all the millennia he’d existed. Sam was so enraptured by their happiness that he almost forgot to take a picture.

“—Got it,” he breathed, shoulders sagging. He looked at the screen, elated to see a shot which, while not perfect, still captured the moment and the whole idea of tonight. In the photo, angled from just behind Dean and to his right, the side of Dean’s cheek was pushed high, showing he was smiling. The candle flame was just off-centre, its luminescence casting gold over Dean, Castiel, and the table, but drowning everything else in darkness.

“Gimme,” Dean said, reaching for the phone. Sam handed it over, and Dean took a look. “Wow, you suck at photos.”

Castiel confiscated the phone, and he scoffed in Dean’s direction. “You have no sense of artistry, Dean. This is beautifully shot.”

“He cut our faces out!”

“He cropped my eyes and your hair out, that’s not the same thing at all,” Castiel said bluntly. He turned his eyes to Sam and gave him a grateful smile. “It’s exactly what I hoped for, Sam.”

“You’re welcome. Again.” Sam gave Castiel a pat to the shoulder, walking around the table on his way back to the kitchen. “You gonna caption it?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. He stared at the image for a moment, then nodded and did something Instagrammy. Dean couldn’t keep up, Cas’ thumbs worked too quickly.

“Fiiiirst daaaate iiiiis goiiiing... welllll,” Castiel said, reading aloud as he typed. He paused. He blinked. He looked up at Dean. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”

Dean glanced at Sam, who was reluctant to leave in case he missed something. He wanted to report to Charlie later, knowing she’d be ecstatic to find out what had gone down tonight.

Dean hummed, eyes swivelling as far away from Sam as he could. “Can you say... like...”

Castiel’s thumbs poised over the keypad.

Dean cleared his throat. “Dean is happy. With this. This whole, uh... development.”

Castiel had to smile and let that sink in before he could type. “I’m glad, Dean.”

All Sam could do was grasp Dean’s shoulder and shake him in a companionable way. Dean set a hand over Sam’s and squished his fingers in a gentle thanks.

Then, while Castiel was typing, Sam slid away. No matter how much Sam would’ve liked to observe the two of them (and take notes, for science), Dean and Castiel deserved some time alone. It was all new to them, so they’d probably need a few days, weeks, or maybe even months to get used to having an openly romantic relationship. Sam was okay with that. Actually, he was just grateful this setup hadn’t gone horrifically wrong.

“Hope you’re bringing that cake, Sammy,” Dean called before Sam could vanish from the library completely.

“À la mode,” Sam smiled. “Back in a minute.”

“Sam—” Dean shot him an unsteady glance. “Listen... Take your time. No rush.”

“Okay.” Sam didn’t question it. Hell, he was getting out of there before he witnessed something that would make him want to cover his eyes and whine like dogs did in movies. He turned tail and swept away, only looking back once.

The moment Sam was out of sight, Dean reached for Castiel’s hand again.

Castiel’s hand faltered where he held his phone. “Dean?”

“I wanna hold hands again,” Dean said, prising Castiel’s hand into his own. “That first time was in front of Sam and that was weird.”

Castiel hadn’t finished posting the photo, but he set his smartphone aside to get back to later. Both hands curled into Dean’s, and a strange sensation erupted in Castiel’s chest, like white flowers blooming in a sped-up movie. Dean’s hands were so warm, so eager to hold Castiel’s. His fingers traced Castiel’s palms, making them tickle, making his fingers twitch. Castiel let him do whatever he wanted.

At last Dean set their palms together, his fingers stretching to caress Castiel’s wrists. Castiel closed his fingers around Dean’s wrists too, holding tight. It wasn’t gentle; it was an expression of strength, for both of them. It felt grounding, and reassuring in every possible way.

Dean let go of a breath he’d been holding. “Feels good.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Castiel smiled. He bumped his knee against Dean’s thigh. “We ought to do this more often.”

“How about tonight?” Dean gazed at Castiel, almost pleadingly. “Stay here tonight. With us. ...With me.”

Castiel nodded. “I’d like that.”

Dean’s smile was one of relief. “And tomorrow night.”

“No, not tomorrow night,” Castiel said, shaking his head while his thumbs stroked Dean’s wrists, back and forth, back and forth. “I have to return to Illinois. I have to find Cain.”

“Cas, I thought—”

“You decided finding a cure wasn’t worth your time. I respect that.” Castiel held Dean’s eye, fierce and unyielding like their grip on each other’s hands. “But you do not decide for me. I will keep on searching for an answer until I find a way to free you from this curse. I will fight with everything I have. Believe me when I say I will stand by you, Dean, whether you shed this weight from your shoulders or if your soul is soiled with irrevocable darkness forever, but nothing will keep me from wanting your burden to be lifted. You can’t find any fault in me for wanting that.”

Dean gripped Castiel’s hands tighter. “I don’t,” he said. “I won’t keep you from trying.”

“Good.”

Dean nodded, his attention drifting down to Castiel’s lips. “Can I kiss you again?”

Castiel smiled, leaning closer. “You may kiss me a hundred times if that’s what you want.”

Dean kissed him once.

It was a long kiss.

It was long, and sweet, and perfect. Blissful intimacy, free of any worrisome thoughts. It provided a second moment of peace in nearly as many minutes, and neither Dean nor Castiel could consider pulling away.

It was so long that they were surprised apart by Sam sliding a bowl containing a wide slice of chocolate gateau and vanilla ice cream onto the table.

“Two forks,” Sam said, saying nothing about the kiss he’d interrupted, the furious blush on Dean’s cheeks, nor the way Castiel had to adjust his pants before he could sit comfortably.

“Thanks,” Dean muttered, taking a fork as Castiel took the other. Dean grinned suddenly, and looked up at Sam. “Hashtag thank you Sammy.”

“What?” Sam said.

Castiel hummed a laugh. “It was the hashtag I used in the caption when I posted the photo of Dean eating spaghetti. A hashtag, then ‘thank you Sammy’, one word.”

“Oh,” Sam said, feeling a grin expanding across his face. “Wow, that’s sort of cool. I get a hashtag!”

“Yeah, good for you, you get a hashtag. You know what you should also get? _Lost_ ,” Dean said, stabbing the gateau. “I’m on a date, I don’t need my brother hovering around like an over-friendly wasp the whole time.”

“Psh,” Sam said. “Good thing I wasn’t expecting a tip.” He snorted, turning away. But he hesitated, then turned back. “It was a good date, wasn’t it? I didn’t screw up?”

Dean smiled softly, gaze lingering on the delicate layers in the creamy chocolate cake he hadn’t yet tasted. His gaze then rose to Castiel’s face. Castiel peered back at him, a tenderness in his expression that made Sam sure their relationship was the kind that was forever or bust. _Nobody_ loved _anyone_ as much as Castiel loved Dean. Most likely, what Dean felt was not too different.

“Yeah,” Dean said at last. “Yeah, Sammy. You did good. Was kind of... perfect, actually.”

Sam beamed.

“Now seriously, Sam,” Dean complained. “This date is awesome, but it isn’t over yet. Get your ass outta here so I can eat this goddamn cake with this goddamn angel, would you?”

“All right, I’m going, I’m going,” Sam laughed, waving at them before heading away. He got to the steps bordering the war room, and he paused there, looking back.

Dean and Cas were tasting their cake, muttering something Sam couldn’t hear. Castiel said something in a low, emphatic voice, his eyes crinkled in that way they did when he was happy, and Dean gave a big, belly-deep laugh in reply, head thrown back. Sam could only smile more, overwhelmed by satisfaction.

Dean and Cas leaned towards each other and carried on talking, grinning, legs entangled, eyes locked. Sam left them to it, and he headed off down a hallway.

He could still hear the echoes of their laughter. It was joyous, full of relief.

It was only fair to say Sam would be hearing a lot more of it in the future.

**{ _the end_ }**

**Author's Note:**

> » [Rebloggable art can be found here!](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/110954715530/honeybeeinatrenchcoat-first-official-date-with)
> 
> Now, I may not know a whole bunch about Instagram, but Cas does, and he knows when people press the little heart it brings him great joy. The same is true for AO3. Click the little heart! It'll make me very happy!


End file.
